


home is where the pastries are

by miyaudrey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Airports, Established Relationship, Fluff, I wrote this on a whim, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Reunions, Sakusa Kiyoomi-centric, croissants are mentioned a few times, idk man I'm a sucker for these bastards, mentions of Osamu and Suna, omi missed his boyfriend real bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miyaudrey/pseuds/miyaudrey
Summary: Despite his distaste for constantly brushing shoulders with strangers, the cleanliness standards being subpar and the constant waiting, Kiyoomi loved airports. And now, he feels like he’s bursting at the seams with appreciation for this one in particular, because finally, Atsumu’s coming home.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 47
Kudos: 1612
Collections: So beautiful It makes me want to cry, finished, kagsivity's fic archive





	home is where the pastries are

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim. it is now past 3am. I'm not sure how good it is, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

There are plenty of things that Kiyoomi doesn’t like. 

He doesn’t like water soaking through his socks when Atsumu splashes it all over the tiles after his shower. He doesn’t like touching the metal hand railings on public transport, because he feels like bacteria encases his hand in a thick, slimy film afterwards. He  _ really _ doesn’t like street food vendors—nothing against them, really, he’s just got exceedingly high food safety standards, and the probability of succumbing to food poisoning is not worth the risk for short-term enjoyment. This list is cut for length; there are a ridiculous amount of things Kiyoomi doesn’t like, for reasons that match up perfectly with his usual grievances.

Though surprising, Kiyoomi loves airports.

_ But why do you like airports, Omi-san? _ Hinata had inquired the first time he admitted this, when they were all a little tipsy in Bokuto’s apartment three months ago. A nice, simple dinner, it was supposed to be, but ended with an empty bottle of sake (or two, he can’t remember) and a few very drunk professional athletes.  _ Aren’t they too crowded and—what’s the word—ah! Too unhygienic for you? _

In theory, yes. Airports were bustling places littered with hordes of people, all eager to make it to another destination. They’re full to the brim of people ready to cross the skies in search for a change of scenery, people with anxieties swimming in their gut at the prospect of a new opportunity, and people standing at gates, waiting for their beloved to walk through like a breath of fresh air and welcome the feeling of home in their heart once again.

Kiyoomi was the latter of the three. Atsumu has been gone for nine months.

Despite his distaste for constantly brushing shoulders with strangers, the cleanliness standards being subpar and the constant  _ waiting _ , Kiyoomi loved airports. And now, he feels like he’s bursting at the seams with appreciation for this one in particular, because  _ finally _ , Atsumu’s coming home.

The clock on his car’s screen read 5:37 AM. Kiyoomi doesn’t even remember sleeping much the night before—the low buzz in his chest occasionally sent jolts of electricity through his body whenever he thought about having Atsumu in his arms again and kept stirring him whenever it threatened to overtake. He was giddy with a sort of excitement that made smiles involuntarily adorn his lips, and he couldn’t just control them. Months of teary late-night phone calls, video calls where they stayed on for hours just to see the other’s face, many packages of foreign snacks and trinkets arriving sporadically and days of longing to feel whole again were finally coming to an end. It was a big day.

Kiyoomi reclines in the driver’s seat, tired eyes open ever so slightly, staring out at the lilac sky. Only the whirring of the overhead planes making their descent and the beating of his heart accompany him in the silence.

Atsumu’s plane lands at 7:10 AM.

  
  


~~~

  
  
  


Sometime around six, Kiyoomi’s stomach makes a long, droning noise of complaint, begging him to  _ please eat something, anything _ , because he forwent eating for the entirety of the previous day out of nervousness.

When he heads into the airport, he’s immediately hit with that distinctive smell—the one he’s always associated with domestic trips across Japan, waiting to board flights with Atsumu sleeping on his shoulder. It eases the tension in his joints a little more when the memories spring to mind. He feels good. There are people crossing his path from all directions, because  _ of course _ everyone wants an early flight, but he doesn’t feel the instinctual need to curl into himself and try and control any erratic breathing. He’s inhaling deeply, and it doesn’t hurt his chest. His mind is as clear as the skies on summer days. He  _ really _ craves a sweet pastry.

He sits on the end chair of a five-seated bench facing out towards the apron of the airport, idly observing the departures and arrivals of various flights and nibbling on his newly acquired plain croissant. Beside him is a paper bag with a chocolate-filled one placed delicately inside, because Kiyoomi knows Atsumu doesn’t really like plane food all that much and he wants nothing more than for Atsumu to arrive into the country and eat his favourite sweet treat as his first meal back home. Of course, he hopes that  _ he’ll _ be the reason for his feelings of comfort first and foremost, but he’s trying to be considerate here. He’s missed him so much.

The sky has transitioned into some sort of pinkish-blue gradient, and the sun filters into the terminal in a way that makes everything look soft around the edges—but that might just be the general languid nature of the morning, because  _ everything _ feels a bit soft right now. Kiyoomi feels a little bit like he could melt into the seat. He’s not even feeling that exhausted yet, because the anticipation-induced adrenaline rush still hasn’t worn off. He’s holding a warm plastic cup of tea to his chest, but it’s nothing compared to the blossoming heat inside his ribcage. He closes his eyes, breathes,  _ feels _ . Atsumu isn’t even here yet and he’s feeling like this. Being in love was disgusting.

The speakers overhead call out a final warning for a gate further down the terminal. Kiyoomi sneaks a peak at his phone. 6:19 AM. Less than an hour until Atsumu was home.

Kiyoomi smiles at his wallpaper before his phone locks. It’s a photo taken a few weeks before Atsumu left, on Kiyoomi’s birthday. The one Atsumu planned and threw all on his own accord. In the picture, they’re pressed together—Kiyoomi’s got his hands perched on Atsumu’s shoulder, and his head rests gently on top. Atsumu’s arm is wrapped around his waist. They’re standing in front of the counter where the cake sits, where all twenty-something candles were pressed into the icing and the shaky piping spelled out  _ happy birthday omi! _ Kiyoomi is smiling down at Atsumu’s creation, and Atsumu is pressing a kiss over the curls on his temple. The lighting is a low glow from all the candles. It’s grainy, bad quality and cheesy, but it still makes his stomach swoop with affection every time he looks at it. 

He didn’t realise how much he truly missed having the entirety of Atsumu and his presence around, and how much he took it for granted when it  _ was _ a constant.

In less than an hour, he can have it all again. 

  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  


Kiyoomi almost dozes off in his seat when the fatigue starts setting into his bones. A vibration from his phone on his thigh jerks him back to reality. He looks around in case anyone witnessed him being  _ very _ visibly startled—Atsumu would’ve made fun of him, because he’s a bastard. 

On the screen is a layer of text notifications from Osamu.

**the better miya**

(06:48) he arrived yet?

(06:53) would u be ok with rin and i comin over later to surprise him?

(07:03) just lemme know

  
  


The timestamps alone are enough to jumpstart Kiyoomi’s heart into an irregular rhythm—where did the time go? He knows that Osamu wants to see Atsumu just as desperately, and they’ve never been apart for quite this long before, so he agrees. And it’s now 7:07 AM, Atsumu is going to be here  _ very _ soon, and he can’t quite quell his nerves. Are they going to pick up where they left off? They didn’t, like, break up or anything, but nine months is a long time to be away from your boyfriend. It’s a whole new year now. Things will surely be the same,  _ right? _

He stands to the side of the walkway leading into his seated area, his belongings sitting at his feet, and notes that the aircraft’s door is open outside. His hands start to feel clammy and he’s itching to get a hold on Atsumu right now, to smell him, feel him, know he’s really back. That it’s really him.

Passengers start filing in, and Kiyoomi’s gaze flits between each of the faces, trying to spot the familiar head of blond hair. He’s hit with the embarrassing thought that he might start crying, and oh  _ God _ , he’s in public, he can’t have people witness th—

He sees him, trudging behind everyone else. He’s also eagerly searching the premises for a familiar face.

Kiyoomi can’t help the grin that stretches across his face. Atsumu sees him. He looks ready to run straight for him, but the belt barrier prevents him, so he instead rushes awkwardly behind the group of people in front of him, then, when in the clear, bolts for Kiyoomi. He’s wheeling his gigantic suitcase behind him and his backpack hangs low on his back, which slows him down greatly, but he manages to drop them beside him and collide with Kiyoomi as soon as he’s close enough. He’s already laughing. The sound is so clear, not crackly like it was on speakerphone the past hundred or so times, and it’s like music to his ears. 

Kiyoomi wastes no time burrowing his face into Atsumu’s neck and coiling his arms around his back immediately, breathing in his scent. He smells like an airplane cabin, to be honest, but underneath is a whiff is something so very  _ Atsumu _ that it makes him ache with love.  _ Atsumu’s back _ . Kiyoomi’s breath is shuddery and he’s definitely crying, leaving tears on the skin of his collarbone. He’s only wearing a t-shirt, and it’s Kiyoomi’s t-shirt.  _ Atsumu’s back. _

“‘m home baby, ‘m home.” he mumbles into Kiyoomi’s ear, and presses a kiss to his temple. The image of his wallpaper flashes on the back of Kiyoomi’s eyelids, as he does it. It was a feeling so familiar for all these months, but simply untouchable, until now. He’s smiling, he’s so happy,  _ Atsumu’s back. _

“I missed you so bad,” Kiyoomi whispers, lifting his head up to lean against Atsumu’s. He notices his eyes are a little red rimmed from exhaustion and there’s a single tear tracking down his cheek.  _ He was missing me just as much _ . “ _ Fuck _ , I missed you. Welcome home.”

He then grabs Atsumu’s stupidly soft cheeks between his palms and plants a kiss right onto his lips, right in the middle of the gate. He doesn’t care if anyone sees. Everyone tells you distance makes the heart grow fonder, but he didn’t realise the weight of the words until it was  _ his _ heart. And  _ man _ , is his heart  _ full _ of fondness right now. He needed to kiss him so bad, he was starving for it. Atsumu’s hand curls around his neck and he’s smiling into the kiss and  _ fucking hell _ , Kiyoomi really missed this. He’ll never stop thinking that. Not until they make up for the time lost.

When he pulls away, he takes Atsumu’s appearance in. He’s wearing black sweatpants, cuffed twice because they’re a little too big on him, and one of Kiyoomi’s softest white shirts (one he stole. Kiyoomi did not give permission. He can’t seem find it in him to mind at all.) with a pair of ultra clean blue and white trainers. His hair is unbelievably soft and fluffy, and not at all styled, and Kiyoomi thinks it’s the most endearing thing he’s seen in months. His face looks the same, albeit a little more tired than usual, and his features are twisted into the most fond expression he’s witnessed in a long while. Kiyoomi feels a tiny bit nauseous with relief, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.  _ Atsumu is finally home. _

Eloquent as ever, the first thing he says after Atsumu picks up his bags is, “I got you a croissant, by the way. If you’re hungry. I really missed you.”

He swears Atsumu’s eyes sparkle in that moment, and there’s just so much excitement evident on his face that Kiyoomi lets out a laugh—an-honest-to-God, joyful laugh. They make an exchange: Atsumu’s suitcase in Kiyoomi’s hand, the paper bag with the pastry in Atsumu’s. Then, he grabs Atsumu’s other hand like it’s muscle memory. Their interlocked fingers feel like they fit better than ever before.

“It feels good to be home.” Atsumu says. 

_ I couldn’t agree more. _ Kiyoomi wants to respond.  _ You’re home to me. I’m so glad you’re back. _

Instead, he chuckles and says, “I know. Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> come bother me on twitter about these assholes. please.
> 
> @sakusauds


End file.
